Message
by Jennifer Darknight
Summary: He was dead and gone, but Edward still didn't understand what Alfons meant when he said... EdxAlfons, post-series


The sky was just that—the sky. Even as he watched it, all it did was form a kaleidoscope of colors, dancing about beyond rooftops, beyond horizons…sitting there, making a show just for him.

The sunset was a magical thing, he supposed, even if he didn't quite understand the pull to it.

All it was…all it was was the Earth turning, and the sun going out of sight along the rotation, only to light up the other side of the planet with its soft glow. One side lost its light, while the other side gained it, only for a short time to elapse and the other side to gain that light as well…and for those who once had that light, to lose it once more.

It's a neverending cycle…scientific really.

So why then did so many people stare up at it, expecting something magical to come crashing down, making their lives the pinnacle of happiness, without having to work for it?

…None of it made sense. None of it.

...

He must have been sitting out here for well over an hour. The dampness from the afternoon rain still stuck to the roof and clung to the bottom of his pants, and the slight chill of the air made him shudder, clutching his jacket closer.

"None of this makes sense." He whispered, though it wasn't to anyone in particular. "What the hell did you—"

---

_On a clear day, after the rain, watch the sunset. _

_---_

That's what it had said in that precise hand of his. The papers were fresh, new—there was nothing old about them. Nothing that seemed ancient about it all, like it was written yesterday…

The lead had even smeared when he touched it.

So why did it feel like it was given to him so long ago? That blasted leather thing…faded and covered in marks…as if it was used often, thrown about, stuck in drawers and set in suitcases for no real good purpose, only for there to be one page filled, near the front. Just one damn page. Not two, not three, not even two and a half, not even _half_ a page…

Just one.

And it wasn't even filled. More…scratched on, and left to the side.

…

"I just don't fucking get it. What the hell did you mean by this?"

---

_"Edward, I...he told me to give you this. After he…"_

_He didn't look at her. He could hear her coming up behind him, shoes tapping on the wooden floor. Alfons had always been so picky about that floor, too—you couldn't scuff your feet or you'd ruin the finish, and it would be your head if you even dared try to drag some furniture across it. _

_He could hear her breathe…could even smell that soft fruit smell of hers—not sure how she did it in a shithole like this, but it was a welcome change…_

_…Most of the time. _

_…He was going to be sick. _

_"…So you knew." He whispered, "You knew all along, and yet he wouldn't tell __**me**__." _

_"….I'm sorry."_

_---_

_It was all she could say. All she could say before she set the notebook on the desk in front of him, waiting a few moments before turning on her heel and walking away…_

…He had to wonder if she really was sorry. With everything else she'd pulled, with all the trust she'd garnered and then broken, only to try to pander to the next hapless sap in her path, it was a wonder if she meant anything she said at all.

For a moment, he wasn't sure if what she had given him was real. Maybe was another lie—

No. It was something. He knew that.

He just wasn't sure what it was.

The Sky was the sky, but he always looked up at it. Golden hair had been most often seen reflected by moonlight, blue eyes dashed with the afterlight of stars, even when his frail, thin body would shiver under the night air. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall…it never mattered when. He'd go up to the roof, and there he was, sitting there.

It was almost surreal not seeing him there now.

Instead it was just him…Edward.

It was just Edward sitting on a roof with his ass getting wet and his body becoming colder with each passing moment.

And for what?

The final words of an idiot who didn't have to die, but instead left him here to contemplate a few simple words, a request that didn't even matter—didn't even have any meaning in the aftermath of it all?

He shouldn't have even looked at that damn notebook.

But he did.

And here he was.

"…Idiot. The hell you ask me to do this for? The least you could have told me was _that_."

…A sigh…and perhaps a bit of a humorless laugh.

"And don't try to tell me that it has something to do with your 'heaven' shit and all that. I'm not going to buy it."

_If there was a God, you'd still be here. _

"There is no God. There's no Heaven. Wherever the hell you are Alfons, it's not there."

_Not here. Not there. Not anywhere…just in the ground, sitting there. _

Far, far away from where he'd always wanted to be.

He was a man who had aimed for the stars, grasped for it…Reached for his dream as far as he could, only to be the one to fall into the earth, never to stand ever again.

Never to go to the place where he was meant to be. Where he should be.

…

_Watch the sunset._

_..._

"Why? Why would you want me to see this? What's the significance? What are you trying to tell me, damn it?!"

…

There was no God.


End file.
